Kintsugi - A Malavai Quinn Story
by Denshah
Summary: Charts the career of Malavai Quinn from his time on Balmorra and beyond...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - An Imperial Pilot Foresees His Death

 **From: Quinn, Malavai**

 **Subject: A New Assignment**

Dear Kairoth,

I thought you would be interested to know I have been given a new assignment. I recently was seconded to part of a task force gathering information on recent resistance activity. It seems that, due to a shortage of manpower, I am to continue with this team in the final stage of the operation. This is a very exciting development and I am greatly looking forward to advancing the cause of the Empire in a way that involves more than reports, troop assignments and trawling through the holo net for scant bits of intelligence. My occasional assignment for Darth Baras notwithstanding, the work here is very dull, I'm afraid.

Perhaps this will be the beginning of a new chapter in my life, where once again my talents are valued, although I highly doubt it. Regardless, at least I will be able to make some contribution, however minute, to our cause.

How are things on Dromund Kaas? Are the students behaving or are they as unruly as we were at that age? I know you said your leg has been giving you trouble, have you seen anyone about it yet? I know you feel it's a minor inconvenience, but I do wish you would take your health a bit more seriously. How is Geneste?

I look forward, as always, to hearing from you,

Malavai

 **From: Agilo, Kairoth**

 **Subject: Re: A New Assignment**

Hey there! Been nearly two weeks, I was wondering what kept you so busy on a backwater planet like Balmorra! You've not just been sitting around playing chess have you? It's great to hear some enthusiasm from you about something and it sounds like your new assignment has given you a reason to be optimistic. I know I can't ask the details, but I do hope it goes well. Be careful! My life would be immeasurably duller without your letters to cheer me up. :)

Dromund Kaas is... the same. Rainy, beautiful and uncompromising. The damp does play havoc with the leg, but I'm weathering it well enough (geddit? I blame the student's bad influence on my use of the popular vernacular as I'm sure you'd put it...). No I have not seen anyone about it. Who are you, my mother? Emperor's sake Mal you need to stop worrying so much. It's been almost ten years, it's not going to drop off! I know I'm your only real friend, but I'm not about to keel over and die on you.

Stop feeling guilty! What happened wasn't your fault. I know I keep telling you, but I get the feeling I can say it as often as I like and you'll still blame yourself for Druckenwell, especially for what happened to me. You have enough to worry about. Anyway, my leg and I have a good thing going. Like an old, married couple we try never to speak. Plus the cane has its charms believe it or not. Gen thinks it makes me look distinguished, but I can't say I can see it myself. It's also great for disobedient students! I jest.

Gen's doing fine, she sends her love; wants to know when we might see you again so she can have the bed made to regulation for you. I'm still catching flack for you leaving the room in a better state than you found it! I honestly think she still believes you carry around a pair of white gloves to check for dust.

The academy seems to be turning out reprobates at a rate of knots! No, I'm joking they're good kids for the most part and yeah, pretty unruly too. Seeing them running down the halls really takes me back to us at that age - the chess prodigy, precise and organised and the artist who was everything but. I admit, though, I do seem to remember even when you ran with me, you did so neatly. I swear you were born 40! Still, it makes me miss you more. Will you ever get leave again? Once every three years is too long for a best friend.

Good luck with your thing, let me know when you're back safe.

Kai

Quinn donned his flight suit, other than the few hours of flight time a month he needed to remain registered as an active combat pilot, he had spent virtually no time in space and he missed it. There was something immeasurably satisfying about the hum of the engines and the sight of blackness out of the window.

Once he was fully dressed and had thoroughly checked the integrity of each element of the suit and the helmet, he headed to the spaceport, only a few minute's walk from his barracks in Sobrik. He walked past various troops, guards and civilians heading for the more heavily guarded military hangars that were off to one side of the bustle of the main port. Two guards stood by the entrance, coming to attention as Quinn approached.

'Sir, we will need to verify your identity.'

He stood there while the guard scanned him. There was a pause and the guard nodded, 'Thank you, sir. Good luck.'

Quinn continued into the hangar itself, it was a massive space containing three F-T6 Rycers, two FT-2 Quells and a few TZ-24 Gladiators as well as a number of other vessels. At the far end stood Captain Massarano, who was in charge of the operation. The captain was human and younger than him by some years with dark curly hair, very dark eyes and a round face. While Quinn liked and respected Massarano there was a minute part of him that was envious. After Druckenwell and his court martial, his career was in tatters. Looking at the captain reminded him of what might have been. He pushed the thought away, he needed to focus; the Empire needed him and he would not be found wanting.

The captain looked up as Quinn stopped in front of him, coming to attention and saluting. The other man returned the gesture, 'At ease lieutenant. Right on time, I see.'

'Thank you, sir,' Quinn replied and relaxed, standing at parade rest, his helmet held in both hands behind his back.

'It's good to have you here,' Massarano said, smiling and extending his hand, 'I appreciate your help. I've heard you're quite the pilot, I'm looking forward to seeing you in action!'

He took the proffered hand and inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment, 'I am grateful for the opportunity to serve, Captain.'

'Follow me and we'll start the briefing.'

The two men headed to the nearest door which contained a set of stairs that lead to a briefing room. There were already four others waiting for them, three women and a man all human unsurprisingly and of varying ages. They stood to attention as Massarano and Quinn entered, 'At ease,' the captain said, gesturing for Quinn to take his seat, 'For those of you who don't know, due to a shortage of manpower Lieutenant Quinn will be joining us for this mission. I know this is atypical, having the briefing so close to hitting space, but we have reason to believe there is a spy in Sobrik and we can't take any chances.'

The captain stood at the front of the room and the lights dimmed. He activated a holo projector showing the near orbit area of Balmorra, 'Okay this is what we're dealing with. Thanks to Quinn's quick work on the intelligence, we have intercepted a number of transmissions between the resistance on planet and a wanted freelance smuggler name of Marrodyn Tyrresta,' as he said the name a picture from a personnel file was displayed, with some basic details and the smuggler's wanted status.

'His ship is this one - The Harlequin,' the picture transferred to an older style freighter, 'Don't let its battered appearance fool you, it's fast and has a lot of special modifications on it. We've never been able to get close enough to account for all of them. It's evaded us for the last four years and should *not* be taken lightly. Anyway, it looks like Tyrresta is being paid to bring in a load of heavy ordinance from off world, probably specialist stuff they can't steal from us here. We're not sure why the resistance wants this stuff, but it's for something big, really big. The transfer is going to take place in orbit here,' once again the projector changed, showing the far side of Balmorra, away from most of the Imperial forces, 'Using the second moon as cover when it's at apogee. Now we are going to be split into two teams,' there was a groan.

One of the pilots spoke up, she was wiry with her blond hair tied back in a severe bun, 'This is bantha shit, sir! We barely have enough to make one full team.'

Massarano raised his hands to the mumbles of agreement from the rest of the group. Quinn scowled, it was inappropriate for a pilot, even a senior one to question her orders in front of the others. It lead to discontent. Yes, Balmorra was a backwater, yes, no one in High Command seemed to care about it with so many other conflicts raging. Yes all departments were severely understaffed, but to make such a claim during a briefing; it was against all protocol.

 _She should keep quiet and make do, like the rest of us_ , he thought.

'That's enough Lieutenant Dillayan! No one is happy about this situation and we would be even less of a team if Lieutenant Quinn had not volunteered his services. We're doing this people, so better get your game face on!' He scowled at the lieutenant, who shook her head, but said nothing more.

'Team Besh will be in the Rycers, and will consist of Scadi as leader, Jolchri and Quinn. Your objective will be to destroy the resistance transport and any escort it has; take those weapons out of circulation. If you can capture the shuttle, fine, but don't take any risks, the order is kill on sight. We cannot allow those terrorists to get their hands on that type of heavy ordinance. Team Dorn consists of myself as leader and Dillayan in the Quell with Rivest in the Gladiator. Our objective is to capture and detain Tyrresta and his crew for interrogation and impound his vessel'.

The holo changed again, 'Here are the rendezvous points, 1-6. All the coordinates are already programmed into your ships. Now, once we're off we'll rendezvous at point 4 and fly in together. If we time it right we should catch them mid-transfer, which is bound to cause panic. Besh, once you have destroyed the resistance transports, you will meet us here in at point 1,' the holo once again changed to show a point above the south pole of the planet, 'and we will escort the Harlequin to the secure hangar here. Should we end up in a fur ball, the fallback position is here, at point 3. Any questions?' Massarano looked around, when none was forthcoming, he continued, 'Good, then dismissed. We hit space in half an hour.'

Twenty minutes later, Quinn was sitting at the controls of his Rycer as a tech stood next to the canopy and attached the various hoses to his flight suit. Quinn pulled the helmet over his head and sealed it to the neckbrace, listening to the hiss of air and change in the sound of his breathing to his own ears. He adjusted the front slightly, this was the issue with spending so little time in the suit, the fit was tight and made him feel slightly claustrophobic for the first few minutes until his body adjusted to breathing in the recycled air it pumped. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep, slow breaths to help calm himself while the tech finished her work. Once she had stepped back and given him the thumbs up, he sealed the canopy and flipped the comms switch, 'Tower, this is Besh 3, call sign Ultraviolet, checking in.'

'We read you Besh 3, please standby,' the controller paused for a minute or so, 'Hangar is safe, you are cleared for engine start and immediate departure. Emperor's speed, Ultraviolet.'

'Copy, and I thank you,' he replied as he punched buttons bringing the main engines online and grabbing the throttle and controller. Carefully, he brought the Rycer up off the pad, disengaging the tethers and nudged it out of the hangar and into the blue sky. Freedom!

He rendezvoused with the rest of the group as planned, forming up neatly on Besh 1's port side. Once in formation each three person team accelerated to attack speed, hoping to surprise the terrorists and their supplier. Stars, he had missed this!

As they cleared the second moon, Quinn's sensors beeped and he heard Massarano in his ear, 'Confirmed, I read two ships, still attached. They must be making the transfer now. Once they've seen us, you all know what to do.'

Quinn was just considering running a scan of the immediate area when his systems beeped again and he heard Besh leader, Jolchri's voice over his comm, 'Confirmed, Dorn 1, the Harlequin is powering up its deflector screens. We've been detected.'

'No time like the present ladies and gents,' came Massarano's voice back, 'For the Empire!'

The two target ships separated suddenly and Quinn noticed that there was debris and gas evaporating from the devastation. Someone had panicked and pushed the emergency override, closing the airlocks and blowing the ships apart. To his horror he saw a figure floating in the vacuum, he turned his eyes back to his controls, he had enough to worry about without considering mercy for the guilty. Again, his controls signalled for his attention. The resistance shuttle was powering up its engines, getting ready to flee. He was just about to make this known when he was distracted with more signals. He checked, three more targets had appeared on his screen that had not been there a moment ago.

He flipped his comms, 'Looks like we have company, Besh 1,' he said.

'Copy that, Ultraviolet, I see them. Confirmed. Three additional units, hold on they're coming in hot!' Jolchri's voice buzzed in his ear.

Quinn immediately started his evasive manoeuvres, the Rycer was an extremely nimble craft, but with minimal defences. He checked his instruments, the new contacts were three old TZ-24 Enforcers, probably left over from the days when Balmorra had been under Republic control. His instinct had been correct, they were already firing, rather wildly. Quinn guessed that the pilots were probably inexperienced, relying more on their surprise tactics than sound ability. However, the scheme had worked, his other team member Besh 2 was now scattered into so many pieces of debris. He checked his own systems and swore. The Rycer's power couplings had been damaged meaning his usual six hour flight time was rapidly draining away and would soon affect his half hour reserves as well.

He brought the craft up sharply into a steep roll, and using his position, coming out of the sun directly at the pilot to his advantage. He activated his blasters, disabling and then destroying the enemy fighter before banking hard, bringing the Rycer around for another pass, firing from below the second ship and destroying it. As he levelled out, scanning for the last fighter, he saw that Jolcri had beaten him to it. He quickly punched his scanner, moving to mid-range and swore; in the confusion the resistance shuttle was making a run for Balmorra itself, its trajectory indicating that the pilot was going to try for a fast atmosphere insertion, hoping to lose any pursuers in the violence of re-entry. He initiated his jammer, as the craft was rapidly retreating, it would soon be out of range of the rest of the team's devices. It was imperative he stopped the shuttle from talking to anyone else out there who might be willing to help. The terrorists always had some sob story about women, children or refugees, preferably all three, that they plied to any bleeding heart foolish enough to listen.

He pitched hard, coming about and activating his auxiliary thrusters to get to the shuttle as fast as possible. Once he was safely on course, he scanned for his team mates and discovered Massarano was the only one still in range. He punched his comms, 'Dorn 1 this is Besh 3, I've located the resistance shuttle but they're going for a drunken 'pub, I'm going after them.'

'Copy that, Besh 3,' responded Massarano, 'I'm going to steal back Besh 1, we're still trying to lock down the Harlequin.'

'Copy Dorn 1, she's too far out of reach to be any good to me. I'll catch up with you at point 1. Good luck. Ultraviolet out.'

Malavai glanced at the readout and saw he was in range. He also knew his target had to be destroyed.

He checked his systems again, the power drain had slowed to a crawl, but the previous damage had left him with virtually nothing for the task at hand. Performing some quick rerouting of the power for life support and taking the minimal shielding offline completely allowed him to pour all the remaining power to engines and weapons. Using the boost in power, he then switched from lasers to the Rycer's more powerful burst laser cannon, which had a better spread and a more powerful impact.

Finally, he adjusted his trajectory, so he would be coming straight at the shuttle, giving his weapons the best possible chance of success. As a pilot he knew that it was risky at this speed, there was every chance the gravitational pull of the planet itself coupled with the momentum of his vessel would cause him to lose control and crash into the atmosphere. However, if it stopped the rebel scum then he considered it worthwhile, even if it meant whatever was left of him would be stuck above Balmorra, quite literally, forever.

Quinn took a deep breath and brought up his targeting computer, taking careful aim as the alarms started to scream at him, indicating he was reaching a speed at which he would no longer be able to evade the planet below. He slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger, sending a barrage of heavy fire towards the shuttle. The first hit the deflector, as did the second, but the screen visibly fizzled, knocking it out. The final salvo impacted the rear quarter of the shuttle, disabling its engines.

Ignoring the continued wailing, Malavai sent another three rounds at the shuttle, the first was slightly wide but the second and third found their mark, blowing the shuttle into tiny pieces. Quickly, he punched buttons on his console, activating the forward keel thrusters as he banked and pitched in a desperate attempt to avoid Balmorra's atmosphere.

There was a miniature explosion behind him as the auxiliary blew under the stress. He held the Rycer steady, as around him the canopy glowed with friction. Checking his instruments he realised it was no good, without more power he did not have the ability to escape.

Without really thinking Quinn played his final card and deactivated his life support, pouring all the remaining energy to the engines. He knew that the emergency backup would activate, giving him exactly 10 additional minutes of oxygen before that too ran out. It seemed a fair trade, considering that if he couldn't pull out of the atmosphere he would not last another 10 seconds.

He fought with the controls, trying to gain the right trajectory to escape Balmorra, but it seemed to be a losing battle. He wondered briefly if it would be painful.

Suddenly, he felt the craft pull slightly and start to lift, he gave the Rycer one, final nudge and it pitched upwards coming out of the atmosphere; the view outside the canopy changing from red and orange back to black. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but realised that it would use up valuable oxygen he could no longer spare.

Checking the readout Quinn saw that his ship was nearly out of power. There was no way he would be able to get back to the rendezvous. He activated the emergency beacon, with any luck someone would pick up his distress call and he would not have to die alone in space.

Nearly ten minutes later, Quinn sat completely still his breathing shallow and infrequent in an attempt to conserve what little oxygen remained. He found his thoughts turned to Kai, he missed his friend and he imagined that Kai would be devastated to find out Quinn had died. At least it was in a good cause, he smiled to himself. Mission accomplished!

He briefly thought of Jesvia, he knew that it was long ago, nearly 10 years, but at times like this, when he was left with nothing but his own thoughts, they kept returning to her. It was as if his broken heart would not be quietened. There had really been no one important in his life since.

The closest he had come was Pendeni, nearly three years prior on Dromund Kaas. At first it felt like she had been doing him a favour - not many women would touch an anti-social and disgraced officer sent to the back end of nowhere. However, she was in no way his intellectual equal and he found himself increasingly bored talking to her. After four months, two days he could stand it no longer and he ended it as gently as he could.

After that he had given up. As a young man he had hoped one day to marry and have children, to be normal in that way if no other, but his intelligence and awkwardness had always held him back. He was not husband material, apparently, and since the last disaster he had considered himself above such feelings for the most part.

Besides, he didn't need romantic love, he served the Empire and was content. Being part of something greater, something that mattered and would survive long after his passing. That was more than enough. Yet at that moment, he wished for...

Before he could complete the thought he felt a change in the craft, it was under someone's control, no longer drifting. He opened his eyes to see he was being towed and a voice came over his comms, it was Massarano.

'There you are, Ultraviolet. We were scared we'd lost you. Just sit tight, I have a priority clearance, we'll have you on the ground in no time.'

Quinn was vaguely aware of the sky outside the canopy turning from deep black, to purple and then blue before he passed out.

He came to slowly. When his eyes finally focussed, he found himself looking at a white ceiling. Quinn took a deep, luxurious breath. There was nothing like nearly dying from hypoxia to make one appreciate the little things, like free-flowing oxygen.

'Look who's back with us,' said a voice.

Turning his head, he managed to focus, rather hazily, on Massarano. The younger man was sitting in a chair next to his bed, smiling broadly. Quinn tried to move, but the other man put a hand on him.

'Easy there lieutenant, you're not going anywhere for a few hours,' Massarano told him, 'Don't worry, all is well. We got our guy, impounded the ship and you destroyed the shuttle, oh and two bogies as well. Couldn't have done it without you, so it seemed only right I should be here when you woke. By the Emperor, that was some flying you did there, Quinn. I can see your reputation is well deserved!'

'Th...thank...' he tried, but his throat felt like it had razor blades in it.

'No no, don't try and speak. The nurse will have forty fits and I'll be kicked out of here like a naughty child,' Quinn smiled wryly, as the other man continued, 'They're keeping you in overnight. I just wanted to say thank you. You're an amazing pilot and I will be putting you up for a commendation for this day's work. Now rest.'

Quinn closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep. The job was done and now all he needed to do was recover.

 **From: Quinn, Malavai**

 **Subject: Back Safe**

Dear Kairoth,

I'm now back from my "thing" as you put it and all is well. Mission accomplished. I will say no more. Of course I worry about your leg, you say it hurts, what else would you have me do? Go and see someone! Maybe they can help. Don't be such a baby about it!

I'm glad Dromund Kaas is the same as ever, it makes my life here immeasurably better knowing that someone, somewhere is enjoying the weather there. I'm sorry for the delay in responding, but I was injured during my mission and needed a day to recuperate. Yes I'm fine before you start. Who are you, my mother?

I'm afraid tomorrow I'm back on full duty, so it will be the same old slog as it has been every other day. I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but the assignment was worth it and I will remember it fondly. Even if I was injured.

I'm not sure when I will be given leave again, but if I am I will let you know. Obviously I miss you and would want to come and see you. Would you allow me to sleep in your guest room again? Are you sure Geneste wouldn't mind, her joke about my fondness for hospital corners aside? I still feel like I'm intruding on you both, despite it being nearly seven years. Problem is I do prefer staying with you. I know I could stay with my parents, but there is something hugely depressing about sleeping in the room you grew up in with your mother fussing and your step father rolling his eyes at you in sympathy.

How are your new pieces coming? Are you just doing more line drawings? I would love to have another to put in my barracks, they do cheer the place up.

Best,

Malavai

 **From: Agilo, Kairoth**

 **Subject: Re: Back Safe**

Dear Mal,

I am NOT being a baby, I don't like doctors that's all. They seem to poke and prod you and none of it seems to do any good. I don't even think they know why my leg hurts, so half the time it feels like they don't believe me. The other half they're just patronising about 1. drinking less, 2. eating more vegetables (that magical cure for crush injuries) and 3. doing more exercise. It's annoying and unhelpful. I nearly hit the last one with my cane.

Glad to know you're back safe. As you've been snippy about it I won't ask about your injury, but I am glad you're all right. However, let me reiterate that your tendency not to tell me about your injuries is irritating. You're my friend and I see you rarely, so knowing everything makes me feel better. I always look out for you, you know that, have been since we were 8.

If you do get leave of course you can stay in the spare room, Gen loves having you over, but you make her a bit nervous. She is used to people who are more laid back and less authoritarian. I think your stiff demeanour make her feel like she's back at school. She knows you're my best friend and you're important, so she just wants you to be happy and comfortable in our home, Mal.

Anyway, you know Odile and Paria love seeing their Imperial Guardian! They're always asking about uncle Mal and his wild adventures on Balmorra. It's become the bedtime story of choice, yeah okay I exaggerate the adventures a bit, but it's in a good cause. Odile is very precocious for a six year old and says he wants to grow up to be just like you, and I think he's well on his way. He recently won a game tactics proficiency award at the pre-Academy prep. I'm sure you did just as well at his age, I seem to remember seeing a similar award in your room. Maybe you could introduce him to chess next time you visit?

I know your mother irritates you, I can't believe she burst into tears the last time she saw you! That must have made for an awkward half an hour for you, knowing you as I do and your feelings on public displays of emotion of any type. I feel for you, Mal, I really do. You're always welcome with Gen and I. Anytime. Day or night.

The drawings are mainly line. I'm experimenting with charcoal, it's tactile and I like the subtle additions you can make with it, especially to surfaces and clothing. I might go back to colours, I do feel line and colour is my strong suit really. Of course I'll do you another, I'll see if I can get it on the courier in the next couple of months, so you should have it by the time you're 60!

Send me more tales of your dashing exploits, I'm running out of bedtime stories!

Kai

11 | Page


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Freefall

Quinn activated his secure line to Lord Baras on the console and then turned to face the holoprojector. 'Lord Baras,' he bowed his head respectfully as the Darth's image appeared before him, 'How may I be of service?'

'Ahh Quinn, I have a little task for you,' as always the Sith's voice was dry, and matter of fact but with that hint of amusement that grated against Quinn's sense of propriety in professional matters.

'Of course, I am, as always, ready to serve, my Lord.'

'Good! I have read the reports of one Captain Massarano. Your piloting skills are quite exceptional, apparently and I have need of an outstanding pilot.' Quinn inclined his head at the compliment as Lord Baras continued, 'I require some cargo transferred very discreetly. It will be ship to ship with no stationary transfer point. You will then need to drop it from low orbit onto Balmorra. Think you can handle that, lieutenant?'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'Excellent, I will ensure all the details are forwarded to you as soon as possible and a ship is made available for you. Your assignment, codename Achilles, will start the day after tomorrow. We shall speak again when you have returned,' and with that the holo disconnected.

Quinn went to his desk and continued to work on his report for Imperial Intelligence on the use of Imperial agent assets in the Balmorran resistance. It was a few hours later when his console beeped. He carefully read the attached document, entitled "Operation Achilles" which stated, rather bluntly, that he should report to a special Sith hangar in Sobrik, which would be made available to him for his mission.

He was to join a routine patrol of the first moon of Balmorra and on the way back rendezvous with a shuttle designated Chronicle from the Harrower class dreadnought Oppressor that would have his cargo. The whole thing had to look as natural and part of the customary activities of Imperial forces, to help avoid raising suspicion. Once the cargo was transferred, he was to do a low altitude drop to a designated location and return to Sobrik.

Checking through the orders, he noted that nowhere was it specified what the cargo was. It seemed likely it was "need to know" and he didn't, which was standard operating procedure for one of Lord Baras's missions. The Darth compartmentalised everything with ruthless efficiency.

The description of the cargo was a single, sealed crate 2m by 1m by 1m which was miniscule. No wonder Baras needed a first rate pilot, transferring something that small between ships that were both in motion was not going to be easy. The whole thing was fraught with risk, both for him and the other pilot. Briefly, he wondered what was so important to make it worthwhile, but quickly pushed the thought to the side. It was not for him to question orders and at least he would be back in space!

He closed the file and went back to the letter currently open.

 **From: Quinn, Malavai**

 **Subject: More Tales from Balmorra**

Dear Kairoth,

I hope Odile and Paria enjoyed the space adventures of uncle Malavai as I recounted in my last letter and that you have actually now finally, after much gnashing of teeth, gone to see someone about the damned leg!

It is not often I pester, but I am now. I know you, Kairoth, you say "Oh it hurts a bit" what you actually mean is you're not sleeping properly because you're in agony. Emperor's sake! No I am not your mother, but I am your best friend and I _will_ write to her AND Gen if you don't start taking better care of yourself.

It's been nearly three months since my last assignment in space, and the interim has been awfully dull. I am glad I did my duty, don't get me wrong, but I miss space. There is something inexplicably wonderful about the hum of the engines and a ship that is running well. I like the clean, crisp order of it as opposed to the bug infested organic mess of being stuck on-planet. Still, I wouldn't trade a single second of it, however much I miss it when I'm trapped on the ground once more.

The closest thing I currently have to excitement is some part-time secondment work with the idiots, which I cannot talk about, but even if I could would put you to sleep. Still, it's important work and I am glad that someone is utilising my brain for something more important than troop deployments.

Your last letter sounded a bit... down, hence my nagging about the leg, as I assumed that was the issue. Let me know how you are, Kairoth. I worry about you.

Write soon,

Malavai

 **From: Agilo, Kairoth**

 **Subject: Re: More Tales from Balmorra**

Dear Mal,

You're invoking the "women in my life" clause? Wow, pretty drastic, Mal. I'll think about it, okay? I'm not sure I would consider myself to be in agony no, but it has been getting worse and ... yeah... maybe I need to think about doing something about it.

Pari and Odile were thrilled with the latest tales of pilot Malavai Quinn, saviour of the Sith Empire, confidante of Darth Baras and all around wonderful guy! Don't worry, you're always the dashing hero who gets out in the nick of time and sometimes gets the girl.

Odile wants me to do a picture of you for his birthday, but I know it would mean so much more to him if you sent him one? I know you always remember and send a holocard and present, but he would really, really like to put you on his wall with the rest of his heroes.

The stories really make them both smile and I think right now they could use it. Gen's currently having another bad turn. I'm not sure what's wrong, but she's been quite distant with me over the last couple of weeks. I've suggested the doctors as well, but she says she's "fine" (which, by the way Mal, is wife code for "not at all fine in any way and screw you for not knowing why"). The kids are starting to notice and I'm running out of excuses.

Sorry not to have more fun news for you, but ... yeah I could really use some advice. Weirdly, you seem much better at giving it to me than you do actually following through on it yourself.

Miss you!

Kai.

 **From: Quinn, Malavai**

 **Subject: More Tales from Balmorra**

Dear Kairoth,

I am so sorry. Is it the same issue she had after Paria was born? I know that was very rough on her and you. My first instinct is to say be supportive of her. Upon receipt of your letter I went and did some research and my general understanding is women don't want space and when they say they do, they want to see if you will chase after them to prove you care enough to see what's wrong.

It seems very counter-intuitive to me, but then I find most things about people difficult, regardless of their gender. I'm guessing you already knew this. Sometimes I envy you and your innate ability to understand these things. The research is such a hassle.

Drawing on my own experiences, I was thinking perhaps don't make excuses for her but spend more time with the children while she is ... unwell? Be honest and say you don't know what the matter is but that you all need to try and support her. At least then, if something more serious is wrong, they do not feel like you have lied to them about it. I wish my own mother had done that when my father died. Children are tougher then we often realise and they will want to help too - maybe they can help you?

I will forward a selection of holoimages of myself, including one with my ship and in my pilot's gear for him. I cannot guarantee they will arrive in time, but I will do my best. I know a transpo officer who owes me a favour and might be able to fast-route it to Dromund Kaas. I will also write Odile a letter and tell him it's on the way. Would that help? Anything to help cheer them up, and you as well!

I'm glad you're thinking of seeing someone. I would suggest if Gen is not herself that this is even more imperative as someone has to be able to tend your lovely children. I really wish I could get some leave, but I don't see it happening. Damnit, I want to be there for you!

Also, I might be gone for a few days, I can't say more, but don't worry if there is some delay in my replying.

Take care,

Malavai

Quinn entered the hangar and gasped in surprise, then smiled thinly and exhaled. In front of him was one of the Mark VI Supremacy-class starfighters, also known as an ISF interceptor. Beautiful. Deadly. A joy to fly, or so he had been told. He found his fingers flexing of their own free will, itching to get their hands on the controls, feel the sheer serenity of becoming one with such a machine.

Before proceeding further, he managed to talk the tech, an alien, into taking a dozen holoimages for him, and then walked back to the hangar entrance and instructed one of the guards to return his holocamera to his office. It was incredibly awkward for him; he didn't enjoy having his image taken at the best of times, because he tended to fidget and look far too serious. Still this was important so he pushed the feelings to one side and did his best.

He had promised Kai and it was important to Odile, who was not just his best friend's son, but also his Imperial ward. Both Kai's children were. Part of Quinn's duty, as their Imperial Guardian, was to ensure the continuation of the Agilo legacy, the proper instruction in the ways of the Sith Empire and Odile and Paria's transition into adulthood. It was a duty he took extremely seriously, even from Balmorra.

When he returned to the hangar, he took a closer look at his interceptor. It became immediately obvious that most of the weapons had been stripped from the craft and replaced with a military grade tractor beam. At least it was now clear how he was supposed to ferry cargo in a fighter. The Mark VI had minimal shielding, a sacrifice the pilots he had spoken to believed was worth the superior manoeuvrability it afforded them.

The combination of the lack of shields and now the lack of weapons would leave Quinn in a very precarious position should things go wrong. Nevertheless it was a risk he was willing to take. He had faith that Darth Baras would not be asking him to risk his life if it was not important. Anyway, he owed Baras his career, and he was more than willing to die to repay his debt.

Quinn walked over and took his gloves off, tucking them in his belt. He allowed his hand to run along the edge of the wing, still smiling, feeling the smooth, cold metal under his fingers. Everything about the fighter was beautiful - the clean lines, the tilt of the wings, it just looked as though it was designed for speed. It one of the gratifying aspects to working for Lord Baras; he always had the best equipment and was willing to assign it to the agents he had on various planets.

The tech walked over and nodded, bringing Quinn back to his assignment. He nodded at the Chiss then climbed the ladder into the cockpit. While the tech attached the various hoses to his suit, he put on his helmet and gloves, listening to the hiss of the air and the strange otherworldly sound of his own breath. Eventually the ladder was withdrawn and the tech gave him the thumbs up. He leaned forward and sealed himself into the cockpit, then activated the comms, 'Tower, this is call sign Ultraviolet on special assignment unlisted 5 checking in.'

There was a pause, presumably while the tower checked his unlisted status, 'We read you Ultraviolet, please standby for final clearance,' the controller paused for a minute or so, 'Hangar is safe, you are cleared for engine start.'

'Copy,' Quinn brought the engines up, feeling how quickly they activated, 'Engines online, awaiting final confirmation.'

'Copy Ultraviolet, standby,' there was another pause, 'Ultraviolet, you are cleared for launch.'

'Thank you tower, Ultraviolet out.'

Quinn grabbed the single controller and placed his feet on the pedals. It was a very different cockpit from the Rycer, and it had taken him a minute or so to adjust. Slowly, he brought the interceptor about and nudged the controls. The interceptor shot out of the hangar, making him hum contentedly at its responsiveness. It really was a beautifully designed piece of engineering. Whatever else this mission might be, it was going to be a wrench to return this piece of cutting edge tech!

Once in space, he set a course for the Oppressor. He then spent some time testing the controls, adjusting his movements to get the exact response he wanted from the Interceptor. He had never flown anything with controls so sensitive, so it took him a few minutes to adjust completely to its precision.

After ten minutes, he began his approach to the Oppressor itself and his comms activated, 'Unregged interceptor 5, this is Oppressor control, please activate IFF and transmit your authorisation code.'

'Copy, Oppressor,' he replied, flipping the identify friend or foe switch used in combat and then transmitted the codes Lord Baras had provided for him. There was a pregnant pause.

'Copy Ultraviolet, you are cleared for approach. Board is green. Forward upper bay. Speed 125. Call the ball.'

'I read you Oppressor. Forward upper landing bay, I make my speed 1-2-5. I have the ball,' he replied as he piloted the interceptor between the two massive forward sections of the destroyer and manoeuvred into the upper landing bay.

Once he felt metal hit metal, he activated his comms again, 'Oppressor control, Ultraviolet. Interceptor unlisted 5 is secured.'

'Copy Ultraviolet, welcome on board the Oppressor. I've been informed you're to stay with your ship, we'll refuel you and your squad will be ready to go in 10 minutes. Control out.'

Once the ship was fully secured and swarmed by techs, he opened the canopy and a ladder was shifted so he could disembark. He removed his helmet and descended, then sat on the bottom rung of the ladder and just waited letting himself enjoy the feeling of being back on a bustling Imperial ship; the sound of the people, the engines, the smells he associated with serving in space. Even the recycled air had its charms.

Some minutes later a woman approached, she was young, perhaps 20, and red haired. Quinn stood as she stopped in front of him.

She saluted, 'Sir, Ensign Halkina Shelay. I understand you will be completing patrol Peth with us today?'

He returned the salute, 'That is correct, Ensign. Lieutenant Malavai Quinn.'

'Nice to meet you, lieutenant,' she replied, 'I'm afraid the Captain has been told to have no direct contact, but he wanted someone to welcome you. I'm the rook, I got the job. He says you don't need to be briefed, is that correct, sir?'

'That is correct Ensign, but please inform your Captain I appreciate his or her courtesy.'

She nodded and smiled at him again, touching her hair, 'Th...thank you sir, you may as well get ready, we'll be hitting space in five,' she saluted again and walked away.

Quinn furrowed his brow, the number of women who seemed to feel the need to touch their hair in his presence had always baffled him. He had never quite been able to work out why, but he was not good at body language. He turned and headed back up the ladder and into the cockpit, re-donning his helmet while the flight crews and the techs fussed around him and the interceptor.

Finally, he was back in space, enjoying the feel of the interceptor's sensitive controls and seeing the cool, crisp black out of the cockpit window. He completed the patrol, as expected it was virtually eventless and then peeled off for his rendezvous as the rest of the squad headed back for the Oppressor. They had barely said a word, but that was to be expected.

There were a great many crafts around at that moment, as shuttles and patrols arrived and departed the Oppressor, so his small diversion would hopefully go undetected. He saw a shuttle appear from his starboard side and he cut his engines and used the inertia to form up on its six. After a moment, he saw the bay door open and a small pod float out.

Quinn knew the timing had to be precise, he used his targeting computer to help him line up, understanding this had to be as fast and natural as possible. Several seconds passed and he activated his tractor beam, and used the controls to bring the pod closer. After a moment, he heard the clang of metal on metal and realised that the cargo must have a magnetic lock on it. Captured. He'd got it. Throttling up, he came about and headed back towards the blue green of Balmorra.

He used the onboard computer to calculate the best re-entry point for the drop and then adjusted his trajectory and speed for optimal cover. The interceptor was just starting to skim into the top of the atmosphere, the bottom of the wings starting to glow with the friction of the atmosphere, when his proximity sensors sounded. Quickly, Quinn checked the readings and swore, another TZ-24 Enforcer was coming at him, firing. He theorised it had waited until the last possible second to minimise the superiority of the interceptor's speed and manoeuvrability.

 _Damnit, I'm stuck. Nothing I can do. Just hope I can weather it_ , he thought.

He was nearly through the atmosphere when suddenly there were a number of explosions to his port, mainly aft side. He heard the wail of the sirens as the airtight seal of the craft was breached and felt the pain in his shoulder and torso as shrapnel tore through both his cockpit and body. The pain was white hot and dull at the same time and he cried out, trying to fight the surge in adrenaline that was making his arms shake and mouth dry. Checking his damage report, he discovered his port propulsion was badly damaged and his already minimal shields were completely knocked out.

Quinn throttled back, wincing in pain as his shoulder protested, in the hopes of preventing the craft yawing and ending up in a flat spin by matching the two engines speeds. Suddenly there was another violent explosion, probably from a ground to air missile.

He fought with the interceptor's controls, trying to keep his ailing craft level and the pain in check. Glancing at the screen, he saw it was less than a kilometre to the drop point so he activated the tractor beam and saw the pod disengage from his hull.

Once it was a safe distance from the Interceptor's hull he released it and, his duty done, checked the damage report. It was hopeless, this lovely craft was going down and there was nothing now that would prevent it, but he needed to hold it in one piece a little longer to get himself away from the pod's landing zone. Allowing the craft a bit more leeway now the drop had been completed, he turned the Interceptor more north west then cut the engines to a minimum. Keeping his eyes on the readouts he more or less glided for another few kilometres, hoping to make it to a friendly outpost in the area.

He was cold and starting to shake, which he imagined was a combination of shock and blood loss. Checking the readout again, he was now at least 10 kilometres away and well to the west of the pod site. The craft was not going to stay airborne much longer, so he reached up above his head with both hands, crying out again as the pain nearly overwhelmed him, grabbed the emergency cockpit ejection handles and pulled hard.

The explosive bolts fired and the cockpit, as one piece, came away from the chassis. Quinn felt the secondary thrusters activate, driving the pod back into the air, then the jerk as the parachutes opened. There was nothing for him to do but sit there, slowly bleeding to death, hoping that he was found by friendlies. It seemed unlikely. He passed out.

Quinn came to sometime later, he was lying face up in a cot. His flight suit was gone and he was dressed in a tunic and pants made from rough, thin cloth. He tried to move his right hand and found it was handcuffed to the cot. Opening his eyes, he discovered a drip sticking out of his arm, it looked like they were giving him synthetic blood.

'I wouldn't move around too much, Imp. We've patched you up best we can, but those kolto patches are going to take a while to work and you lost a lot of blood,' said a gruff voice.

He looked over to see an older man, white haired and bespeckled, looking at him and leaning back in a chair.

'Quinn, Malavai. Lieutenant. INDKR-25365527.'

The other man kicked his chair back forward, 'Yeah they all start like that. We'll see, Imp. We'll see. I'll see you get some decent chow before we start. Least I can do. Tomorrow though, now you need to rest. That shrapnel tore your guts up pretty good.'

The man got up and walked to the door, before looking over his shoulder, 'Usually we wouldn't bother healing Imp scum like you, but pilots tend to be ultimately tradable. The Empire puts too much effort into an Interceptor pilot to let him rot in a cell for long and we have our own people to get back, so we're hoping you'll be valuable to us.'

Quinn lay there and tried to work out how long it had been. It was difficult to tell. It seemed likely he had been captured by the resistance. He imagined their interrogators to be a shade on the amateur side, but that in itself was dangerous. Pain could be a powerful motivator, but in the wrong hands it killed the detainee before it broke them. Judging by the primitive medical facilities, he did not hold out much hope if he were to be injured again.

While lying there, he mentally prepared his lines of defence. The various bits of intelligence that he could give up to the interrogator so it looked like he was breaking and then broken. The small lies he might get away with, some operations which were unimportant and some misinformation he might be able to use. He also considered the things he might need to bear in mind during the process that might save his life. The position of the room, the number of guards, any small details that might give him a way of escape or a clue to where he was.

He was awoken in the middle of the night, sat up roughly and hooded. Hands grabbed him and pulled him out of bed and dragged him down a number of corridors to a cold, dark room. Confused and shackled, Quinn could do little but be punched repeatedly, while a group of what sounded like mainly men cheered and whooped before being picked up from his knees. A man stood near him and whispered, 'That's for my family.'

Again, he was roughly marched down a corridor and handcuffed back to his bed. When the hood was removed, a woman spat at him, 'You baby killer!'

He offered no defiance or witty repartee, resistance fanatics all had some sob story about losing their families and children to justify the orphans and widows or widowers they, themselves created. As if somehow that evened the score or excused their atrocities. There was little point arguing. Best just to let them have their fun and get it out of their systems.

The only downside, besides the black eye he could feel swelling, was the unpleasantness of wiping saliva from his face. He wasn't a germophobe per se, but it was distasteful to his sense of decorum.

For approximately the first three days nothing happened, Quinn postulated that they were letting him heal up and regain some strength before starting his questioning in earnest, but he was disturbed and beaten most nights. He guessed it was against orders, but a nice morale boost for those involved.

The next five days, or so, he couldn't be entirely sure, were a blur. The sessions themselves were batteries of questions, followed by beatings, followed by more questions on and on and then a random period of rest, which could be minutes or hours. Once the beatings proved ineffective, they moved onto electricity. Quinn was moved several times a night and once was forced into a stress position for several hours. Always, he was kept in isolation.

By about day six he began, slowly, to give up some intelligence, small pieces of gossip and anything else he could think of to make the interrogators think he was starting to break. Despite the Republic's belief that there were men who were too tough to break, it was just nonsense. Everyone broke in the end. Everyone.

He had once read that surviving an interrogation was a race, if he could give them enough without breaking and they could hurt him enough without killing him. Either way, they seemed to feel they were making progress and that meant less muscle and more food, which was good for him as his wounds were still painful and felt hot sometimes. He suspected their medics had not done their job properly and his wounds might well be infected.

There was also some hope, he had heard the guard talking when they thought he was asleep, the area he was being held in was not secure. It did occur to him that this was some form of psychological technique to encourage him to talk, but none of the people he encountered on the base seemed to be professionals. Unfortunately, his interrogator was a talented amateur.

Quinn estimated it had been about two weeks and he was starting to develop a rapport with Isin, his interrogator. He was bright enough to know Quinn was holding back, but stupid enough to believe he was making real progress. The muscle continued, though at less of a pace with the question sessions and breaks being longer and more relaxed. He got the feeling Isin was in a rush, but was pleased enough with the progress not to push him too much harder. It also seemed he had yet to divulge the exact nature of the real question he wanted to ask. It was nothing but a hunch, and, for the time being, was completely un-testable.

Quinn had studied the room they used and knew it well enough that if the opportunity arose, he might be able to escape. He was sure it would be at least another week before they realised he was not as forthcoming as they would have liked, as by then the pieces of operations he had been able to give away would be proven to be fake or misinformation. The other bad news was he had a fever and chills, which meant that it was very likely his abdominal wound was infected. Trust the resistance to mess up a simple patch job.

The days became a blur and truthfully Quinn had lost count. He felt it had been about twenty days, but it was a wild stab in the dark to keep his mind tied to some sense of order. He was sitting in the room, tied to a chair, shivering in the thin trousers and tunic they had given him. He dragged himself back to listen, but was finding it increasingly difficult, '... so we wanted to ask about the Oppressor.'

Quinn focussed, 'Oh? Ask me what?'

'We would like some more information about getting aboard.'

'Aboard the Oppressor?'

'Yeah, the standard codes the Imps use. Anything that might help us.'

'I don't know all the procedures of the big destroyers. They... they... have changed...'

'Don't make me punish you Quinn. You know I can tell when you're lying,' Isin replied quietly.

 _No, but you can tell when I want you to know I'm lying_ , he thought.

'I'm... I'm sorry, I'm not well Isin. There's something wrong with my wound.'

'I know, we're trying to get in some better equipment and a doc. Maybe we can fix you up, huh? You tell me this and I promise I will ensure you live.'

Quinn looked up at him, bleary eyed, 'You... you can't promise me that. I doubt you have the facilities...' he realised that, in his weakened state, his mouth had engaged before his brain and that answer earned him a punch from one of the men who always stood by his chair.

He leaned forward and spat out a mouthful of blood, then caught his breath and sat back up, feeling his lip swelling.

Isin shook his head, 'I thought we were starting to trust each other, Quinn. Now I've given you as much leeway as I can and now I need to know,' he indicated a large basin of water off to his left. 'I don't want to have to do this, Malavai, but I will. I need to know how to get aboard the Oppressor.'

'I...I ... I don't know. The codes, they change and...' another punch followed by Isin nodding at his guards.

'Sorry Quinn, no choice. I need that information and I'm going to get it, one way or the other.'

With that he was roughly unchained and stood up, his hands rebound behind his back. He tried to get his feet under him but couldn't, his legs were too weak, his guts on fire. The two guards grabbed him under the arms and dragged him over to the basin, letting him drop to his knees. He looked at his own reflection in the water - there were dark circles under his eyes and a fair growth on his beard, plus the various bruises from the repeated beatings. His skin was so pale and he realised, in some ways, he barely recognised himself.

As Quinn braced himself for the inevitable, there was a sudden explosion and all the alarms in the room went off at once. It was chaos, the lights dimmed and the whole place was filled with smoke and noise. The guard just dropped him and he managed to fall sideways, avoiding the basin altogether and landing roughly on his right side.

Even in his diminished state, he struggled weakly against his bindings hoping to free himself and escape in the confusion, but to no avail. They were biting into his skin and he thought he could feel blood in his hands. After a few minutes there was a blur in front of him, an Imperial soldier bent over, 'Sir? All you all right sir?'

'Lieutenant Malavai Quinn.'

'Yes sir, Corporal Glasca. Can you walk?' he asked, cutting off the hand ties.

Quinn tried to sit up, but immediately fell, and only avoided hitting his head through Glasca's quick thinking.

'Don't worry Lieutenant, we'll have you out of here in no time,' he turned and spoke into his comms unit, 'Glasca here, we need a stretcher and medic in sector A, room 4 north side.'

The solider broke off the comm and turned back to Quinn, 'We didn't know there were Imperial prisoners here, we were looking for some 'Pub scientists, we had intel they had been shipped from off world for a special job, something really big. You're lucky, usually we would have just bombed this place. You seen anyone like that, sir? Any labs?'

'I'm...no.. only guards... Isin my int..interrogator... that... that's it.'

'I'm going to leave you and continue my sweep. The medics will have you out in no time,' replied Glasca and turned, running out of view. He lay back and stared at the ceiling, his body still tense, wondering if he might die before he reached safety, or worse if his captors would return.

Sometime later Quinn was aware of a number of medics kneeling beside him, assessing his condition. His body relaxed as he was loaded on a stretcher and removed from the building. He floated in and out of consciousness, remembering the sight of the black sky above him and the smell of the plants and flowers mixed with fuel and explosive residue.

Then there was the feel of the lift of the medical craft, the Imperial comms chatter and the sounds of the medics talking as they examined him. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the zip, zip, zip of the lights going past above him, the sound of many voices shouting and concerned looks from a nurse holding something over his nose and mouth. Glancing around he saw the clean whiteness he recognised as the hospital in Sobrik. He vaguely remembered being shifted onto an examination table and swarmed by a trauma team before the blackness overcame him and he sunk into its welcoming arms.

 **From: Agilo, Kairoth**

 **Subject: Re: More Tales from Balmorra**

Dear Mal,

It's been a while since I heard from you, nearly five weeks. Is everything all right? I am growing quite concerned. I checked the KIA for Balmorra and you're not listed.

Write to me, Mal. Please, I need to know you're okay!

Kai

 **From: Quinn, Malavai**

 **Subject: Re: More Tales from Balmorra**

Dear Kairoth,

I apologise for my tardiness in responding but I am in hospital recovering. I was shot down during my last mission and captured by the resistance. Before you get all upset, I am all right. I am still listed in "guarded" condition whatever that means. I was finally allowed a data pad today after threatening my nurse with pulling out all my IVs and escaping.

Now that I am sufficiently recovered from the surgery and internal regen the doctors had to do, I am going in a kolto tank. They expect me to be in and out for about a week. Luckily they let me write this first. I took the holoimages for Odile, they are on my desk and I will send them as soon as I am out. I understand I am to be on light duties for at least month!

Please don't worry, I'll write as soon as I am able,

Malavai

 **From: Agilo, Kairoth**

 **Subject: Thank the Emperor!**

Oh Mal I've been in a flat panic. I'm so glad you're okay.

Just sending this back quickly so you know I've read your mail. You can tell me all about it when you're out of the tank.

Kai

 **From: Quinn, Malavai**

 **Subject: Re: Thank the Emperor!**

Dear Kairoth,

Let me, once again, apologise for a tardy response. They kept me in the tank for an extra four days and then insisted on keeping me in a recuperation wing in the hospital for another two days with no access to anything. I've been bored silly reading awful popular magazines while a bunch of nurses fussed around me as though I were 10. Plus not a chess board in sight!

It is perhaps the worst aspect of my "incarceration" on Balmorra, there have been so few opponents for chess of any note. The Chief of the Civilian police, a tall, bad tempered fellow named Barr indulges me when he has time, but he is too impatient to be a consistently good player and you have to catch him in the right mood.

At least I'm back in my barracks now, never have I been so glad to see the place! I have been put on bed rest for another two weeks and then light duties for three whole months minimum. None of my superiors have asked to speak with me, it is hard to know if that's a good or bad thing. Although they are always forthcoming with any complaints about my performance.

I've had a look at my fresh set of scars. Some shrapnel and repeated surgeries have left a number of round marks on my lower abdomen, not that anyone will see them apart from the medical personnel and myself. Still I find them slightly... _displeasing_. Perhaps it is just because it is a reminder of my own failure. You will be amused to hear they are making me use a cane as well, something about giving my lower body extra support. I don't think anyone would say I look distinguished though, I think I mainly look tired.

I've been told I'm not allowed to exert myself in any way, as my body has been through quite a trauma. Also, they have told me I have to see the base councillor because talking about my experiences while captured can help me to get over them more quickly. Load of damned nonsense really. I have done some research into the effects of interrogation and I am sure I will experience some of them, but I don't really need to be discussing it with some stranger sitting on a trendy chair trying to "put me at my ease".

I tried explaining I am a private man and that I do not wish to discuss what happened to me, but they will not sign me as fit for active duty until I have "made the effort to come to terms with it". It was all I could do not to swear at them, but I did settle for a scowl.

How are things at home? I've been quite concerned about you and Gen, I thought about you a lot while I was locked up. The first thing I did when I returned was get the pictures for Odile and write him a brief letter apologising for missing his birthday. I do hope they arrive soon.

Please let me know.

Malavai

 **From: Agilo, Kairoth**

 **Subject: Thank the Emperor!**

Dear Mal,

First, I sat Odile down and explained that sometimes serving officers have to disappear without much explanation and that it is always for the good of the Empire. He was, yes, disappointed, but he also said that he understood that your duties came first. I was very proud of him being so mature about it. I let him know when I got your mail and he went into transports of delight, so he's really looking forward to it. I didn't tell him about being injured, just that you were on an assignment. I decided the injury he didn't need to know about.

I'm so glad you're all right, I know it's part of the job but I worry. You're my best friend and the idea of losing you, well... I can't bear the thought. You're like a brother to me, Mal and I love you. Yes I know you're not comfortable with such emotions, but this time I feel the need to tell you. I worried and fretted the whole time you were in the tank. It's the worst thing about this distance, I can't even just come by and see you, make sure they're looking after you properly. So, anyway, deal with it - I love you.

I know you don't like the idea of "talking to some stranger" but they can help, honestly. Yes you're incredibly private, perhaps a bit too private and that in itself can have a negative effect on your mental health. Talking about what happened while you were detained is important. They made me go because of my leg, after Druckenwell and like you I thought it would be a waste of time, but it really wasn't. The guy I saw had been injured himself, knew what I was going through and I could talk to him about stuff I was too scared to tell Gen.

Give it a go before dismissing it completely. Private or not, they're right. Interrogation... oh Mal, I can't even imagine what you went through, but sometimes it keeps me awake at night. Consider this being my version of "have you seen someone about your leg"? *evil grin*

I bet you _do_ look distinguished with a cane, more so than me in all likelihood, and you have the rather stuck up attitude to match! Just think, it might be a lady magnet, not that you'd notice of course! Promise me you'll take it easy, huh? Get the rest they want you to - don't overdo things (as you are known to do)? Don't make me threaten, because I will!

Gen... I don't know exactly. She seems a little better, she's less distant with me and we're talking now. We actually had sex last night for the first time since this started, and this morning she was humming to herself in the kitchen while she made tea. So perhaps things are improving; I live in hope. Really I just want her to be happy, I love her more each day we are together. I feel so lucky to have her in my life.

I mean what I said about the counselling and looking after yourself, Mal. Don't make me tell you how much you mean to me again, I can see you blushing from here!

Love ya,

Kai

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